Knowing (56 page)

Before Ginger had caught her breath, Jackson had already recovered and was stroking her vagina with his fingers. Flicking his fingers back and forth over her quivering clitoris, her tiny jewel began to spread open like a blooming flower. The lips of her vagina were eagerly opening and closing on their own. She pressed her buttocks into the curve of his body, her love muscle grabbed and sucked in the length of him. Her sweat-drenched, smooth vagina, void of hair, rubbed against the curly black mound spreading at the root of his sex.

Surprise registered on Jackson’s face when he felt Ginger lathering and cleaning his sex. No words were needed as Ginger finished their special ritual.

“Baby, I think you and the kids should move back home tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of —”

Elevating her body on her elbows, she swallowed hard. “Do you think just because we had sex that everything is just peachy keen between us?”

“We love each other. What more is it?”

Ginger pounced from the bed, boldly standing naked before him. “Do you think just because we’re in love, that that’s all there is to a marriage? Ordinary people who love each other divorce every day. It takes more than love — it takes compromise. Love hasn’t got a damn thing to do with two people being able to live with each other.”

“Ginger. We don’t have to do this.”

“Do what? Just fuck and make up like we always do? I’m sorry, that doesn’t work for me anymore, Jackson. I need to know that you trust me. It’s important.”

Jackson mumbled something under his breath that Ginger was unable to discern.

“Have I ever questioned you about being at Mae Thelma’s house in the middle of the night?”

“What?”

“What were you doing at one o’clock in the morning — having Bible study?”

“Not this shit again,” Jackson mumbled. Ginger cried, while Jackson quickly dressed, hollering over his shoulder, “I thought you’d grown up. I see you haven’t changed a bit.” He walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Ginger fell on the floor, covering her head with her hands, clamping them tightly against the bare flesh covering her brain. “Why, Lord, did you make me love him so much, so he could hurt me so bad?” A silent scream escaped from her mouth, as she cradled herself. Her body convulsed in jagged spasms.

Kim finally made progress with her therapy, having accepted and forgiven herself for her past indiscretions. The therapist told her that the key to getting well lay in forgiveness and loving yourself enough to stop the pain of guilt. She must be willing to look honestly at her life, no matter how sordid. The therapist also explained that there is a difference between feeling better — which can occur as soon as the physical body heals itself — and
getting
better, which results from systematically and faithfully reapplying simple yet effective mood-control techniques.

Ultimately, united in love and strength, Kim and Bill were able to make plans for another wedding. Smaller. And the slow undertaking of renewing their sexual closeness. Bill had cleaned the ghosts from his closet, admitting again to Kim about his tortured past, when his vengeance against God had begun, after losing his son and mother. He’d gotten on his knees and prayed while Kim was in the hospital. There had been nothing else he could do but pray. He prayed to God that she would make it through the operation and live, and she had.

Bill and Kim’s relationship couldn’t have been stronger. Her botched attempt to take her life and to hide her shame from the man she loved had turned into a blessing for both of them. Each made a vow to visit church regularly and to give God another chance. Ginger cried openly when she heard Bill’s confession about the Lord. She was moved beyond words, and began looking at her own faith — her devotion to God.

For years Ginger wondered, Is God, shaping, molding, or polishing me right now? Am I praising and thanking God, or am I complaining about the process? She was told by her pastor to read II Corinthians 4:17: “Our light affliction . . . is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” It made so much sense. Her heart felt peace. She’d entrusted her soul to a power that was greater than Man.

On Sunday, the seventeenth of January, Kim, Bill, Ginger, and her three children attended Faith Methodist Church and bared their souls and hearts at the rail of the altar, where they confessed their sins and asked for forgiveness.

You’re My Everything

The New Year brought Jackson, a nonbeliever in resolutions, to affirm that he and his wife and family would be back together soon. He phoned Ginger and the kids each night before bedtime. He told them he loved them and would see them soon. Jackson attended church faithfully every Sunday at the Church of Christ. He felt better. Gave up the alcohol. Started doing work around the house. These were things that Ginger had asked him to do years ago, but he’d never seemed to find the time to do them.

By February, Jackson began to feel his attitude change. He was no longer angry. By the time the March winds hit, Jackson felt a spiritual warmth touching his soul. And now, as April rained in, his heart was open to receive God’s blessings.

Jackson felt God’s voice at work, at home, in the car, and, unsurprisingly, he found himself saying on that bountiful Sunday morning, “Lord, I’m ready.” And the Lord walked right in.

“Hello, Mama. It’s Jackson. I was saved at church today.”

“Praise the Lord, son. Thank you, Jesus. My prayers have been answered,” said Hattie B. Montgomery. Her muffled cries were heard over the receiver. Jackson could hear the tissue crinkling as his mother wiped her tearful eyes.

“Thank you Jesus,” said Jackson humbly. His voice broke as he clamped his hand over his mouth, whispering a prayer to himself, remembering the words of God. The words that had saved and sanctified him, filling him with the Holy Ghost.

“Praise God, son. Everything’s gonna be fine. Just fine. I know you been having troubles lately. But the Lord is who you take your troubles to. You put them in God’s hands. He’ll know what to do. You pray. Don’t be afraid to get down on your knees and praise Him, son. He’ll hear you and answer all your prayers.”

Opening the windows, Jackson let the clean spring air flow freely over his face. The sun was hot, the breeze cool. A wave of living sweetness drifted into the room, ruffling the white petals of apple blossom trees below. This was his favorite month of the year. April was like a long-awaited visitor who came to town with his yearly springtime show.

He could see the figure of a bluebird with the sun on its feathers, tilting its head, seemingly observing a man with his head peeping out the window. Stepping back, he inhaled, cradling the phone beneath his chin. “I’m praying for my family, Mama. I know you’re praying for us too.”

He sat in the chair in the living room, staring at the blank television screen. Usually at this time of day he’d be well into his third or fourth Western. Somehow the tales of the old West didn’t interest him now. He was coming face-to-face with the truth: The Dummy Box, as Ginger had called it, had taken so much time away from his family.

Jackson’s attention was brought back to his mother by the sound of her voice. “Yes, Lord,” said Hattie B., “when the Lord comes to take us to Heaven, when He comes back to claim His people, you have to be prepared. Got to get your reservations. Get your ticket early. And there ain’t no discounts either. Yes, Lord, He’ll soon be calling us all home.”

*    *    *

Exhausted, Ginger fell in a heap on the floor in front of the sofa. Her first golf lesson was over, and by her estimations, it might well be her last. Ginger hadn’t guessed that walking around the golf course would take so much energy. Yet the people she’d met at the outdoor clubhouse at the Palmer Woods Golf Club Association were perfectly down to earth and polite. Informal meetings with clients or potential clients were being held all over the eighteen-hole course. It was as casual and natural as the robins taking a cool drink of water from a birdbath. She’d have to learn.

Two weeks later, her friend Ivory Michaels asked her to meet him at the golf club. Ginger had been thinking so much about Jackson lately that she needed a diversion, so she halfheartedly accepted. Driving down Seven Mile Road, she could see her English Tudor home through the sparsely leafed trees in the park entering the subdivision. Since she’d left home, Ginger avoided driving on Berkshire Drive whenever she showed homes in the area.

While they sat drinking beverages after only nine holes — Ginger couldn’t make eighteen — she thought of her home again, the home that she and Jackson had shared for nearly ten years. Somehow the painful memories had faded, and her thoughts about the times spent there were only comforting, loving ones.

“It’s so beautiful there this time of year, Ginger,” said Ivory. He wore short white golfing shorts with three-inch splits on the sides. A white cable-knit sweater trimmed in a front V with burgundy-and-navy-blue stripes covered his navy polo shirt.

Ginger studied his golden hairy thighs. He looked like the kind of man many a woman would imagine as their ideal. “Paris?” asked Ginger. He nodded. “I’ve never been there,” she admitted sullenly. “I always dreamed that one day I’d visit.” With Jackson, she thought to herself.

She smoothed the short skirt over her red gingham two-piece tennis suit. Her mother had found the vintage outfit at a resale shop and bought it, knowing how much Ginger treasured clothing from expensive stores, like Saks and Neiman Marcus, that were still in excellent condition, clothing that was lovingly cared for by the previous owners.

Taking Ginger by the hand, Ivory pulled her up, suggesting that they walk along the course for a bit before leaving. When they had reached a secluded area, surrounded by trees, Ivory looked at her and gave her his megawatt smile. His gray-blue eyes sparkled in the midafternoon sun.

He seemed to look right through her, his eyes pooled to an almost silver shade of gray. “I left something there — it’s the reason I’ve decided to move.”

“You’re moving to Paris? What about your —”

“Job?” He arched an eyebrow as a train of golf carts passed. “I’ve secured a position at CNN in Paris. Doesn’t pay as well. But I’ll make it.”

“What about your daughter, Liberty?”

“It took me a long time to accept that she’d be better off with her mother. I’ve been deluding myself into thinking I could be a better parent. I was wrong. She loves her mother dearly, as I did many years ago.”

“And you’ve never considered remarriage?” asked Ginger, walking beside him as they made their way back to the clubhouse.

“You probably wouldn’t understand; it was difficult for me to accept it at first, but I’m in love with another man. Since he left, I’ve experienced a kind of slow death. Truly, it isn’t the sexual intimacy that we share that has ultimately united us, but respect.” He paused and looked at her for a moment. “With that kind of love who needs marriage,” he said ironically.

“He lives in Paris?” Ginger tried hard to keep her balance. Was missing a man making her gullible to the first man she was attracted to? How would she survive out in the world? She couldn’t even differentiate between a straight guy and a gay one. And to think that at one time she thought he’d desired her. She even thought for a while that she was beginning to feel something for him. Now she just felt stupid. Wait until she told Kim. She wouldn’t believe it either.

“No, he lives in London. Right now the English Channel is going to separate us, because of our jobs. But he just submitted his resignation. He’s making a good living as a full-time painter, which is what he loves to do.” They stopped and picked up their golf bags at the clubhouse locker room. “You might know him, he lived here a few years ago. His name is Ran —”

“Randall Pierce,” she almost whispered. She felt as if she were a huge balloon, and someone had let out all the helium — slowly. She lifted her chin proudly. “Everyone’s life seems to be changing lately. I’ve decided on making a few myself.”

“What’s all that noise downstairs, Mama?” asked Autumn. She was perched on the stool behind her mother, removing the tightly bound scarf from Ginger’s head as she dialed the telephone. Autumn had elected herself to oil her mother’s head nightly. Once a week, she happily cut and polished her mother’s toenails. She knew how much her mom loved it.

Ginger greeted Katherine, covered the receiver, whispering to Autumn, “Kim’s moving her daddy home in a few days. She and Bill are redecorating his room.” They’d shopped together for the small objects before repainting, recarpeting, and buying new furniture. Bill had gotten rid of the hospital bed before Kim came home. The doctors reported that Ollie could sleep in a regular double bed.

The kids had gone for the weekend with their father, so Ginger and Autumn were by themselves again.

Katherine had recently turned sixty-one. And though time had been kind to her, she couldn’t admit, not even to herself, that she was breaking. She’d cut her long hair to a fashionable short bob, and changed the color to a bold blondish red. After a strict diet, she’d lost twenty pounds, along with twenty years. Or so she told herself.